


Ritual

by Jennifew



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11927313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennifew/pseuds/Jennifew
Summary: Ianto has a new toy and takes a moment for himself.  It's not what Jack expects.





	Ritual

Ianto handed out a round of coffees, ending with Jack as usual. Often Jack would seize the opportunity to take a break from paperwork and chat for a bit, but before he could say anything this time Ianto said, "If there's nothing else, sir, I have something to do in the tourist office."

Jack looked surprised, but told him to go ahead. Ianto nodded, then fled as casually as possible, wanting to be out of the main Hub before Jack thought to ask just what he'd be doing. He had no qualms about letting him assume it was Torchwood-related, but didn't want to actually lie.

Once safely in the tourist office, Ianto retrieved a parcel from where he'd stowed it, safely under the counter. Carefully he unwrapped it and opened the box inside.

It was even lovelier than it had looked online. It had also cost far more than any other pen he owned, but after everything that had happened the last few months, he deserved a treat.

Now he just had to select an ink to go with it. This pen was destined for use in his journal, not for work, so he could use something with a bit more character than black or blue. Grey would go well with the black and anthracite of the pen, but it didn't look good on the cream-coloured paper in his current journal, and it already had an assigned pen, anyway. He unlocked the drawer containing his ink samples and pulled it out, looking over them as he considered. He wanted something bold, but not bright, something that would suit the classic elegance of the pen.

Ianto's hand hovered over the sample vials for a moment before selecting the Oxblood. He tilted the vial back and forth so the ink coated the sides, then held it up next to the pen. The combination looked good, he decided; he could picture the dark red ink coming from this pen.

He returned the sample vial to its place and pulled the drawer out further to reach the full bottles. Retrieving the correct one, he placed it on the counter, along with the lint-free cloth he used to wipe off the nib and section after filling a pen. A flash of blue in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked up to see Jack leaning against the door to the Hub, a fond look on his face.

Focusing his attention on the items in front of him in an effort to hide his startlement, he asked, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," Jack replied, amusement in his voice. "You looked...focused."

"Yep." Sometimes if he just agreed with Jack, the other man would let a subject drop. It was usually worth a try, at any rate.

And then sometimes Jack wouldn't be deterred.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen someone get that...intense...about a writing implement before. Don't you think you can find something better to direct all that focus at?" The 'like me' didn't need to be said; with Jack, it was pretty much a given.

"Not during work hours, sir," he replied automatically. It didn't always work, but he felt the need to at least pretend to keep things professional at work.

He could hear the pout in Jack's voice as he said, "It wouldn't kill you to be less responsible every now and then, you know." He pushed off the wall and approached Ianto. "Whatcha got there?"

"A pen," he replied shortly, as he unscrewed the cap on the ink bottle and set it carefully on the counter. He removed the pen from its box and unscrewed the cap.

"Ooh, a fountain pen! Haven't seen one of those in decades." Jack's voice had taken on that nostalgic quality that indicated he was about to actually volunteer information about his past. Ianto pretended to inspect his pen, wanting neither to scare Jack off by obviously paying attention, nor to risk spilling ink everywhere if what followed turned out to be some improbably ridiculous story about using pens as sex toys or something.

"You know, one of the very first things new Time Agents had to learn was how to write. It's just...not necessary, by the 51st century. You type or use voice-to-text, you don't pick up something in your hand and make marks. Even reading handwritten text is something of a specialist skill, mostly among historians. Once I'd selected 19th to 23rd Century Human Space as my area of focus, I had advanced training in the technologies of the period, including fountain pens. I don't know why I'm surprised to see you using one; they suit you."

"Fussy and prone to making a mess if mistreated?" he inquired dryly.

Jack snorted a laugh. "I was thinking more along the lines of old-fashioned and requiring a bit of practice to care for properly, but ultimately resilient and worth the effort."

"Oh." Ianto could feel himself blushing, and busied himself with filling the pen. To his relief, Jack refrained from distracting him as he dipped the nib in the bottle and twisted the blind cap to lower the piston. Vacuum filling systems might be more fun, but he found something calming about piston-fillers, manually drawing the ink up into the barrel. He removed the pen from the bottle and wiped the excess ink from the nib and section, then replaced the caps on both pen and bottle before finally turning to face Jack.

"Did you need something, sir?"

"Just wondering what you were up to."

"You wanted an excuse to abandon your paperwork, you mean."

Jack grinned, unrepentant. "That, too. The Rift's quiet this afternoon, so I was thinking we might leave the Hub for a bit, maybe get a late lunch somewhere?"

Ianto went over his mental list of what each of them needed to get done that day; he'd gotten enough done thus far to take a break, and when they weren't in the midst of a crisis he always gave Jack deadlines two days earlier than the real ones in the assumption he would do things like take off for an hour or two in the middle of the day and get behind, so....

"Why not? Lunch sounds good." He replaced the ink and cloth in his supplies drawer, slipped the pen in his breast pocket, and gestured for Jack to lead the way.

The blinding smile he received in return was worth the effort it would take to get Jack to return to his paperwork, later.


End file.
